


All I Loved, I Loved Alone

by BlackandBlueMagpie



Series: Don't Call Me Brave [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: General warning for angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackandBlueMagpie/pseuds/BlackandBlueMagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not quite sure how he's ended up here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Loved, I Loved Alone

**Author's Note:**

> From the same verse as Wonderful One Plus One, but unrelated.  
> The title comes from Edgar Allen Poe.  
> I just needed to get this out.

“What are you doing here?” Enjolras’ tone is clipped, the bridge of his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger as he leans against the open door. Grantaire pauses, cracked lips forming around an excuse that doesn’t make it past his throat.  
“I don’t… Know…” His wanderings usually brought him here, standing outside the building that held Enjolras’ apartment, staring at windows blocked by curtains. But most nights he made to onward journey with leaded feet across a couple of streets to Courfeyrac’s.  
Tonight he’s not sure what’s happened.  
“It’s 3am.”  
I’ll leave.” Grantaire turns back down the stairs, fingers wrapped tight around the bannister, but an angelic voice calls him back in an almost resigned tone.  
“No. Stay. I don’t want you wandering around in this state.”  
Soon Grantaire finds himself standing in the centre of Enjolras’ rug, wondering what’s happened and how he’s ended up here. They were hardly friendly, at least not from Enjolras’ side, and he’d only been met with distain so far this evening. Maybe that was where the anger started, green black bile building beneath the surface. Enjolras held out a mug of water and two tablets out to him.  
“Here. It should stave of the hangover you’ll undoubtedly end up with.”  
Grantaire snaps.  
“Oh stop acting like you care.” All the anger he’s bitten back, slowly bubbling to the surface, threatening to spill out in a bitter stream.  
“Excuse me.”  
“You don’t care about me. You wouldn’t care if I stopped coming to the meetings or… Drank myself to death or something. So stop doing this Good Samaritan thing or whatever it is. That hurts. You don’t care enough to worry if I’ll get off the alcohol, and to be honest sometimes I think you just like seeing me going through the withdrawals.” Enjolras rocks back on his heels like he’s hit a nerve, though his face doesn’t change. “So just… Stop it.” Grantaires words are black, tar spilling over his lips, dripping over his fingers and staining everything, so that he’s sure it will never be the same again. He drags his tongue across his lips, as if to pull back the words but all he can taste is absinthe and cigarettes.  
Enjolras sighs, sitting down on the sofa.  
“You say all this about things you know so little about.” His words are blood, red mixing brown with the ink that hangs in the air.  
“You show your feelings often enough.” A glance, clear blue.  
“No. I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.” Grantaire snorts. “You really think I _enjoy_ seeing you in such a state? That I wouldn’t take that all away if I could? I can’t stand that you’re killing yourself and what’s more I don’t understand why…”  
Maybe the words should clear the atmosphere that’s gathering between them, dissipate the tendrils curling toward Grantaires’ vision and blurring it. But the black takes his tongue again.  
“Then perhaps you don’t live in the real world if you think there is nothing to escape from.”  
“I prefer to change rather than escape.”  
“Then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.” His tone is flat.  
“Sit down.” Grantaire pauses, chewing his lip. “Sit down.” Enjolras’ tone is more commanding, it’s crimson and it grips him, and reluctantly he sits. “Listen, you… Infuriate me. It’s incredible how opposing we are. But that almost… Interests me.”  
“Interests you.” He murmurs blandly.  
“Maybe that’s not the right word.”  
“Really.” He spits into the poison, expelling more of the ink running over his teeth.  
“I just want to understand you, to help you or just…”  
“No! You can’t- You can’t say that Enjolras!” Grantaire jumps up despite himself, pushing his hands into his hair so that the heels dig into his eyes. “You can’t say that when all you do is call me worthless and useless and a drunk and just tell me to leave.” His shoulders shake but he won’t cry, he won’t allow himself to. “You can’t say all that in front of our friends and then in private… Just expect me to… I can’t so that. Because all you are is ashamed, and you would be ashamed and I don’t want to be… Don’t ask me to. Please.”  
Enjolras touches his arm gently.  
“I’m sorry.”  
“No. You’re not.”  
“Grantaire.” Enjolras moves so that he’s in front of the other man, hands on shoulders that quake gently. “I am. I get passionate, and I lash out. I’m sorry that I hurt you.”  
“Three days.” Grantaire murmurs against his wrists, barely audible in the room.  
“What?” Enjolras frowns.  
“Before today. Three _days_ without a drink. And you didn’t notice.” There are tears now, hot against his skin and on his lips, and they wash away the bitter taste with salt. “So what’s all this for? Anyone would think I’m an idiot falling for someone so uncaring, even I think I’m crazy because sometimes I’m so desperate for something, anything, that I’m happy when your anger is directed at me because at least you’ve noticed I’m _there_.” Grantaire looks up at Enjolras with icy eyes that are swimming with tears, and sighs. “Am I hopeless? Is this… Have I fallen for a person more machine than man? If I get too close will I fall like Icarus? Because I have to know Enjolras. I can’t do this anymore…”  
Enjolras is staring at him as if he’s grown two heads, the teary eyed man pouring out his heart who was so different from the robust, overconfident cynic he thought he knew. His lips formed around words that never materialised, eyelids fluttering in shock.  
“I never expected you to realise how I felt, that’s just how you are. You’re not good at noticing things… I shouldn’t have said any of that, I’m just… I’ll leave.”  
For the second time Enjolras finds himself holding Grantaire back, this time it’s not out of concern for his safety, this time he’s not quite sure why his fingers and curled around the leather of Grantaire’s jacket.  
“Don’t leave…”  
“Why not?”  
Enjolras pulls him in, lips crashing against Grantaire’s own. The kiss is sloppy, their teeth bump, and Grantaire tastes like salt and is stock still as Enjolras pulls away.  
“Just… Stay.” He murmurs, cupping Grantaire’s face, his cheek is rough with stubble and his tears are cold now. Enjolras wipes at them gently with his thumb as Grantaire recovers, his eyes wide in a mix of panic and surprise.  
“You…”  
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.” Enjolras moves away slightly, but Grantaire catches his hand and keeps it against his cheek, lips pressed against the palm, with trembling hands.  
“Don’t. Let me have this.”  
And this time when they kiss Grantaire clutches to Enjolras as if he might slip between his fingers, fingers in his hair and bunching his shirt. This time Grantaire smiles against his lips and sighs happily when Enjolras kisses his cheek. This time neither of them is going to let go.


End file.
